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on skimming the surfacedear ex-lovers,
dear ex-friends, dear little brother,
i have taken all the posters down and my room is a skeleton.
i wonder why you are sad and i am not.
i have taken time and care to grow into these walls
to plant memories here, first fuck
first sleepless night, first question of suicide,
i have collected bones-
here see them in my closet-
i have broken them all.
love was not strong enough to keep me here,
and love is not strong enough, after
the first poem i wrote since i told you i love youthe star-soaked stains
that covered our nudity
gives way at last
to a tequila sunrise,
so low in the sky;
it's still bright enough
to sting my eyes,
and yet i can't bring myself
to hate it.
your body next to mine,
every effort is made
to move a heavy limb
because any space
is space i don't want.
i am sometimes humbled
by my feelings,
the way they swell
in my throat
just how the ocean
tastes the shore.
there is always something new
to find hidden in my heart,
summoned by my words,
or the salt of your skin
wearing like wind on shale
i don't think i can ever tell you
i love you enough.
if i could, i would never get dressed
so that you could never be sad-
a rewind every time
my clothes touch the floor,
never anything but nude, not naked
because with you i can be bare
i can let you see my entirety
and leave my arms uncrossed,
i can let you in
and not fear that you will break me,
or force my inner things out.
i can love you with open arms
and my lip
Fatal LoversYou and I are the definition of fatal attraction,
like a serotonin deficiency to the pretty side of the blade,
like the heavy-hearted pebble that wants to trails its lips across still waters,
like sun-bleached and wind-whipped birch paper to the lustful licks of shadow-dancing candle flame.
I expect everything to fail - us, no exception -
because having to hold my hopes up is far too hard on my limbs,
when my wrists just want to bleed out,
my shoulder blades still ache from tearing out my wing span,
and my fingertips burn from when they learnt to trust, and then couldn't hold on when that trust fell out from under them.
You say you carry far too much baggage whenever you take a trip to my heart,
when you trip,
and fall into love.
But I'll be your suitcase,
your luggage cart,
the entire fucking cargo hold of as many airplanes as you will ever need.
Because having no baggage means you're only here temporarily,
and I want you for so much longer than that.
I want you to pack up your
on sitting across from a stranger at davis libraryi wonder if anyone has ever sat
across from you and wrote a poem about you
even though they don't know you.
i wonder if anyone has ever done
this for me. i hope when you go home
you don't wash your hair. i like that it's messy
and long. if i were a ladybug i would like to sleep
there. i would tunnel just beneath the top layer
and shudder my wings to a close and have dreams of fields
of wheat. i hope you can see how this is a good thing.
and i hope you don't change your clothes. i hope you wear
a sweater everywhere you go. i like that the one you're wearing now
is brown and without a pattern. its not ambitious or pretentious. if i
were a flea, i'd perch on your shoulder for company until i got hungry.
i wouldn't bite you and wouldn't know why in my tiny insect mind.
i hope you never wear contacts, and i hope sometime you fall
asleep with your glasses on. i hope you never talk on the telephone
except once a week to your grandmother. i hope you never peel your stickers
off your laptop, no
things i don't know about you that bother me thati wonder what it's like
to fall asleep beside you
in a post coital haze,
and to wake in the morning
to run to class.
do you wake me,
do you kiss my forehead,
do we make love again-
i don't know,
and do you wet your toothbrush
before applying toothpaste,
tell me you don't leave the sink running,
it must get awfully tired.
and what do you dream of
when i lie next to you,
blissfully more than just a body;
what will you dream of
a year from now?
please tell me i can fit into
your big picture
as easily as i can fit into
I Can't Help It.It doesn't matter to you
If I'm your hundred thousandth pageview
Or your billionth subscriber
Or the first to ever follow
Which is kind of hard to swallow
When every fiber of my being
Is continuously screaming
I hate you.
Well, maybe not hate…
But I do envy you.
Because you're what people want.
You're who they gave a chance.
You're who they want to know.
You are discovered.
And all I get is swept under the rug.
So the next time you need me to propel your popularity
I'll be right here
Already envying you.
EveI don't know whether to call her buttercup, or snapdragon, because she's never seemed like a flower petal to me. More like a pussy willow, or a foxtail thistle. The kind of plant that grows by dusty highways and make ups truck driver bouquets.
She walks like she's got eggshells under her toe nails, and she whispers like every word that passes those lips is a sin.
She makes me want to grow old with her, but she says "happily ever after" sounds more like a curse than a promise, and I've never been one to swear at an angel.
She's got a tattoo of Eve on her right side, and she once told me that humans are only the offspring of Eve sleeping with the snake - that she didn't know how good she had it until Adam walked away. And that nobody wants an angel, because feathers seem suffocating when you don't have wings of your own, and venom always tastes sweeter than wine.
goodbye, lettermani love you enough
that my heart is
like a wound
in my chest.
i know it's not pretty
but i'll tell you
how you leave me
into the sink,
porcelain veneer sneering
at the broken teeth and mirror
a foot ahead.
you smell like
drink & weed,
and you are making me sick.
in the morning,
i will sit you down at the
kitchen table to show
you the vomit behind
eyes bleed rivers
dead sea salted
over the bends
of my thumb.
you read sad poetry
to the caves
inside my heart,
because sadness knows
and expect me
not to crumble.
reflections on firstsyou know what really makes
me sad is that i have no recollection
of our first kiss. i have no recollection
of the first time you tried to fuck me. my
memory stops where i walked into
the room in garters with my best friend and molly
rolled my eyes back while you
made my fingers snap and grasp
at musty sheets. what i do remember
is when i fell in love with
you. it was over several
short and long moments.
1. the water murmured softly
underneath the wood and underneath
our bodies. the rushing of our blood
seemed like too much,and so it calmed
down and pulsed gently like thump.
thump. thump. thump.
and you called me sweetheart and this is
what you said. "i hated you so much because
i was attracted to you. you are so beautiful.
so smart. so talented. i hated you so much."
and then i sang the same song for you
that had made others fall in love with me
but i never felt it the way that i did then.
my voice was almost shaking,
Southern modernizationBlack comedy market economy, banana peel political humour, cards with the cartels, the solution free room service and credit the union. Bolivar twist, ding dong dollar under control, valley of the coin desert with no value. Gangsta paradise, the victims are the people. Big mac and cold conflict interference a part of it all. In little Mexico you’d need a high horse to jump the great border wall that boasts its peak.
Viracocha melts waters unlike those it rose from, making waves of out of metal oceans to overtake the current south, re-steel, re-take, tech-mechs the entire south into neo-Machu Picchu, cyberpunk music moulding, reshaping old society into an new age, iron dynasty, fresh coat for an old, ancient look. The coattails of Quetzalcoatl if he were a modern man pull together the merge of future and long passed past..techno temples and the like.
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